Once you finally decide that your days are numbered in New York City, the city becomes infinitely less beautiful- Someone ran into my car and broke the tail light into a million pieces on 29th street and didn’t leave a note or anything, Target in the Atlantic Center makes me want to take out my eyeballs and soak them in acid, and WHY does the United States Postal Service not work around here? Are they hoarding my packages? Where the lastest book I just ordered off Amazon “RV’s- the guide to getting out and staying out”? So today, I rebel against all my lists of things to do and I’ve surprised myself with acting COMPLETELY out of character and cleaning the bathroom (a job given to me by the fed up wife) and listening to Chopin (a song I’m writing for a pre-order. a friend of mine who was thinking he wants his song to sound like a chopin prelude. Does he KNOW i dropped out of piano lessons at 13?). I feel like I’m waiting for something…*****But yesterday, the sun was out, and I sang back-up at my friend Steve Waitt’s gig last night at the Living Room. It was packed! Steve likes to stick me right up there, front and center, even though I’m just singing harmony. It forces you to perform a little, I can’t just be a doo-wop lady off to the side. After performing with Steve about 50 times, I’ve finally figured out how to not feel like an idiot up there with no instrument. The whole band rocks so much, and last night, I was Liz-Clark-The-Lounge-Singer, looking over the heads of all the beautiful, artsy, New York City-types. All this is what makes me stay here. It’s so very typical of New York to make me chose like this. If I like playing at the living room, I gotta live with the smashed tail light, and so on.